Bank Shot
by augiesannie
Summary: In a curiously restless mood, the Captain seems to be going out of his way to provoke Fraulein Maria. In the ensuing battle of wills, though she doesn't realize it, she provokes him in return. Written for the Proboards holiday calendar challenge.
1. Chapter 1

**BANK SHOT**

"Come on, Max. You're going to have to try harder than that."

"I'm afraid billiards is simply not my game, Georg. Why not let me trounce you at cards?"

"Maybe later. Not in the mood for cards," Georg grumbled, watching as Max replaced his cue stick in the rack and disappeared down the stairs with a cheerful salute.

No, cards wouldn't do at all. He needed something more _physical_ , something to distract him from the restlessness that had plagued him ever since that night: one week ago, to be exact. The night he'd held a guitar in his arms and sung, for the first time in four years.

It _mu_ st have been the music that affected him so deeply, because there certainly hadn't been anything else remarkable about that evening. The children had put on a puppet show. The little governess had maneuvered him into singing. Somehow, he'd gotten sidetracked, until he found himself agreeing to Elsa's plan for a grand and glorious party, an agreement he soon regretted. Now Elsa had gone back to Vienna for a few days, claiming that it was impossible for her to find the right dress anywhere in Salzburg.

Yes, that was it. Without Elsa to keep him in line, and the memory of the music burning his fingertips, no wonder he was on edge. As though he were spoiling for trouble of any sort. He hadn't felt so wound up in years, in fact; the last time he'd been so tempted to make mischief, his parents had sent him to the Naval Academy.

"Captain von Trapp?"

The little governess was standing in the doorway, a mixture of dread and resolve written plainly across her face.

"Fraulein Maria? What brings you all the way up here?"

Maria looked around curiously. Though she'd been at the villa for nearly two months, she'd never had a reason to visit the snug glass cupola that perched high on top of the villa. It was another one of those "strictly off limits" spaces she'd learned about, and now she saw why: it was a masculine sort of lair, with deep leather couches, dark red walls, a curving bar topped by an enormous radio, and a large billiards table.

"Frau Schmidt told me you might be up here, Captain, and I am sorry to disturb you, but-"

"But you're _not_ sorry, are you?" he interrupted crossly. 'You're not sorry at all, because you've come to harass me. To demand that I revisit my decision with regard to Liesl."

How did he do that, anyway? This wasn't the first time the Captain had demonstrated an uncanny, and disturbing, ability to read her mind. Maria hoped that this mysterious power of his was limited to times when they were in the same room. It would be unbearably humiliating if he knew how often her thoughts strayed in his direction, especially when she was alone at night, without the children to occupy her.

"I _am_ sorry if I'm disturbing you, Captain, and I certainly do not want to make a pest of myself. But, with all due respect, sir, I do believe you've made a mistake in this case. You are a _very_ devoted father, admirably so. Perhaps it's simply an excess of caution on your part, but I wish you would reconsider and let Liesl attend the party."

"No," he said firmly, arms crossed against his chest as if to underscore his decision. "Absolutely out of the question."

"But why, Captain? I don't understand your objection. The children have attended other parties, after all."

"For one thing, it's not a _party_ , with cake and games, or at least not the kind of games I want my daughter playing. It's a debutante ball, a lavish affair, with dancing and champagne, and it's simply not suitable for a young girl, Fraulein."

"But that's just it, Captain. Liesl is not a young girl, not any more. She is a young woman. Put too many unreasonable restrictions on her, and you'll have a mutiny on your hands," he said with a flourish, proud at having found the correct naval term. "If she thinks you don't trust her, she'll take every opportunity to flout your authority when your back is turned. Young women get into a lot of mischief that way."

"How would you know?" he chuckled.

"It wasn't so very long ago that I was her age, Captain."

"O-ho! As though you went to _parties_ , Fraulein? And I don't suppose _you_ made any mischief."

It lasted only a moment or two, but Georg knew that the challenging look she gave him in response - the tilt of her head, the lift of her shoulder, her blue eyes shining through a dark fringe of lashes – would keep him up half the night. If one forgot that she'd come from Nonnberg Abbey – and it was all too easy to do that – he could definitely imagine her as just the sort of troublemaker he'd adored as a young man.

"I wasn't _born_ at Nonnberg Abbey, Captain. I went to parties! Not debutante balls, of course, but wonderful parties where I danced, and laughed, and wore lovely dresses. And had a _marvelous_ time. Just like any girl."

The playful look was gone now, in its place a soft, yearning expression as she stared off into space, and presumably back into her past.

"Well," he said, more irritably than he'd intended, "it hasn't been that many years for me, you know. I spent far too many evenings cutting up at debutante balls. And that, Fraulein, is why _I_ know better than to let Liesl loose in that kind of environment, even if _you_ don't. Bachelor dandies. Roués. Cads. Fellows all in a line," he griped.

But Fraulein Maria, staring off into space, had no response for him. First she'd invaded his sanctuary, and now it was as though she were alone with her memories and had forgotten about him entirely. There was something rather unseemly, wasn't there, a postulant from Nonnberg Abbey mooning about in such a fashion? Georg was seized by the completely childish desire to regain her attention, to call her back from whatever girlish romantic notions had distracted her.

The night she'd cajoled him into singing, he'd given in, not because she'd brandished the guitar at him as though it were some sort of weapon, but on account of a single, winsome word. "Please," she had said, the kind of "please" that a man simply had to respond to. Anyway, she had done a great deal for him and his family; perhaps he ought to reconsider?

"All right," he heard himself saying. "I'll tell you what. If you want it so badly, for Liesl to attend the ball, you can put yourself on the line."

He had regained her attention now. Frowning warily, she asked, "How so, Captain?"

"In the form of a wager." He nodded toward the table. "Billiards. If you win, Liesl goes to the ball, and if I win, she doesn't."

Fraulein Maria gave a little huff of annoyance. "You aren't doing me or Liesl any favors. I don't know how to play _billiards_ ," she said, her tone implying that he'd suggested that she set the house on fire, or drink poison.

There was a dangerous twinkle in his eyes. "I'll help you. And you can have a handicap. Come now, Fraulein. You're not afraid, are you?" he said slyly.

He'd thrown down the gauntlet, how could she run away now? "Of course not!" Maria said bravely, striving to convey a confident air despite her misgivings. The Captain was standing before a rack that held long, tapered cues that stood almost as tall as she did. She turned toward the massive table, with its dark gleaming wood, soft green felt, and brightly colored balls displayed.

"Does the one who has the most balls win?"

"Of course, doesn't he always?" Georg cackled, and then whirled to face her, his face a stricken mask of horror. 'I mean no! _No_!"

"All right," she startled, wondering what, exactly, she'd done to elicit such a reaction from him. "Why don't you explain it to me, then? The object of the game, I mean."

He took a deep breath. "Of course. You'll take the stripes and I'll take the solids. The white one – you use it to knock the others into the corner pockets. You get a point for every one you pot, and you lose a point if you accidentally pot one of mine. The person shooting continues until he misses a shot. When the table is clear, the person with the most points, wins."

"Would you mind showing me how it's done?" Fraulein Maria asked, and he was halfway around the table, ready to nestle close up behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist, when he thought of Nonnberg Abbey and its onion-shaped dome and reconsidered. Instead, he lined up a shot for himself and demonstrated.

"Like this. You see? To make it fair to you, I'll only give myself points for bank shots."

"Bank shots?"

"When there is no way to pot the ball directly, you have to get at it indirectly, by bouncing it off one of the cushions. Like this," he demonstrated again. "Now you try," he encouraged her, handing the cue to her. "Go ahead and take a practice shot."

Feeling awkward, Maria approached the table. "Where should I put my hands? High up on the shaft, or lower, like this?" The Captain made an odd, strangled sort of noise, but he didn't reply. So she did her best to imitate his movements, but when she poked at the white ball, it bobbled vigorously across the green felt and stopped before hitting anything.

"Don't poke at it," he suggested. "Nice and even." Her knuckles were white with effort. "And loosen your grip, Fraulein, but not too loose. Pretend you're holding a bird, or a small animal."

"Nice, even strokes," she mumbled to herself, lining up another shot. "Hold it firmly. But not too tight. Like a living thing."

Georg winced. He might be an aristocrat, a national hero, a man with a keen mind and a severe demeanor, but at that moment, he might as well have been a mischievous twelve-year-old boy in knee pants. There was no denying that talking about balls, shafts, strokes, and pockets would be entertaining for those of lewd mind, but it wasn't normally his sort of thing. He was all at once mortified and vastly amused to find himself affected by the suggestive language coming from the innocent lips of his governess, even if the double-entendres were unintentional.

She tried again, a credible effort that brought one of her balls close to the pocket.

"Very good! Shall we treat this as the start of our game, then?" he offered, and stepped back to watch her. She studied the table carefully, chewing her lip.

Georg could no longer overcome the impulse for mischief. He blamed his unsettled mood, and really, what was the harm in it? She wouldn't know the difference. This was getting to be a lot of fun.

"When you're this close, Fraulein," he said casually, "you barely want to stroke it. More like a kiss."

Sure enough, her ball rolled easily into the pocket.

"That's better!" she crowed. Her face glowed with pride and pleasure.

He leaned back against the table, and watched her line up another shot. It wasn't the first time he'd admired her figure, slender and willowy, but only now did it occur to him that he'd been dreaming about golden-haired sylphs for weeks. Now that she'd relaxed a bit, she had a natural grace that drew the eye. Alas, her form was swathed in a dowdy brown dress she'd made for herself. He ought to order her some more suitable material. He'd like to know what she would look like in more flattering garments. Even more, he would like to see her in no garments at all.

Unfortunately, despite her best efforts, Maria's next shot was not successful; the white ball slid across the table, knocking several balls askew but potting none of them. Shrugging, she turned toward the Captain, only to find him glaring at her – no, not _glaring_ , not exactly, but watching her like a predator just before the pounce. The same way he'd looked at her just after the puppet show, his blue eyes gleaming, like he was about to devour her. She hadn't slept a wink that night on account of that avid gaze.

Although it was supposed to be his turn, it seemed like an awfully long time before the Captain looked away from her, leaned over the table and lined up his shot. He moved with lazy grace, and even with his tie knotted and jacket buttoned tightly, there was an impression of broad shoulders and powerful arms that affected her more deeply than she wanted to admit. Before she knew what was happening, he had effortlessly made two successful bank shots.

Maria gave a little moan of despair. "This game will be over before it's begun!"

"No, no," he said reassuringly. "You're doing very well, for a beginner! The way you potted that ball? Very capable."

She felt absurdly pleased at the praise. While he arranged his next shot, she admitted, "There _was_ something quite magical about it. When you find just the right spot, and brush against it just so, it slides right into the pocket, doesn't it?"

Suddenly, the cue flew from the Captain's hands and clattered onto the table, balls rolling everywhere.

He bit back a groan. "Your turn, Fraulein."

And so the game proceeded. To his amusement, Fraulein Maria played like an enthusiastic child, scowling when she missed a shot, flushing with satisfaction when she made one. In between turns, she focused on the table, avoiding his eyes, and running her fingers through her hair until it surrounded her face like a halo of golden silk.

He had planned all along to let her win, of course, curious to see how she'd express her gratitude to him. And she made it easy, because in her exuberance, she proved just as likely to pot his balls as her own. But not _that_ easy, because of her continual, almost comically if inadvertently inappropriate, commentary:

"Why are you thrusting at the ball so forcefully, Captain? With such a powerful stroke, how can you keep control of yourself? I thought you told me softer is better!"

His hands were slippery with sweat. "I prefer harder," he gritted, missing an inexcusably easy shot.

Maria had forgotten all about Liesl's party, and for that matter, all about Nonnberg Abbey. She tried to focus on the game, forcing herself to concentrate and follow the Captain's instructions carefully. But as the game went on, despite her best efforts, she couldn't ignore the remarkable transformation in the Captain's demeanor. His jacket and tie lay discarded on the floor, his hair fell over his eyes, and there was something completely distracting about the bright-white of his rolled up sleeves against his darker skin.

The game was nearly over now, with the score tied. Georg studied the table, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his palms dry. This time, he wouldn't let her distract him. Instead, before approaching the table, he simply waited for her conversational torpedo, and sure enough:

"Oh, Captain, for Liesl's sake, I _do_ hope I end up on top when we finish."

If you only knew, Fraulein, he thought with a wicked smile, and then his shot bounced showily off three separate cushions before slowing to a stop in the exact center of the table.

"I won?" she asked, turning to him disbelievingly. "I won!"

"You've still got to pot that one," he pointed out, but just then they were interrupted by the inconvenient Max Detweiler.

"What the…Fraulein Maria? What a brave girl you are!" he said admiringly.

"Oh, I'm more lucky than br – what do you mean, brave, Herr Detweiler?" she asked.

"Taking Captain Georg von Trapp on at billiards? The man's a master. No one controls the table the way he does! Why, did you know that back when he played for money, he earned passage back from New York for the both of us in just three hours' time?"

Chuckling at the memory, Herr Detweiler crossed the room to pour himself a drink.

Maria frowned. Turning to the Captain, she hissed, "You were going to let me win."

"N-no. Not exactly. Not entirely," he began to explain.

"You were going to let me win," she repeated. "Why? If you wanted Liesl to go to the ball, you could simply have-"

"Because it pleased me," he said curtly. "You've got your wish now, Fraulein Maria. Are you happy?"

"Y-yes," Maria said, but she felt disoriented and vaguely dissatisfied, somehow, as though she'd missed out on something. She'd be up all night again, this time to puzzle over what had just happened, and why he had gone to the trouble of challenging her to win something he was obviously willing to give her. Why the indirect approach? "She'll be so pleased when I tell her she can go."

"With you, of course." the Captain said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Surely you didn't intend to let her go unchaperoned? No, _you_ will accompany her, and keep an eye on things. I'm placing you in command."

"But Captain! I can't possibly – I can't go to a debutante ball! For one thing, I wouldn't be suitably dressed!"

He paused to give her a long appraising look. "Yes, you will. You can wear that-" his long fingers fluttered expressively, "-that blue dress you wore the other night."

"But that's not appropriate."

"It's perfectly appropriate for _you,"_ he said quietly. His eyes grew darker, and his face was unreadable. "Unless you prefer I buy you another one. Something more, ehrm-"

"No, no," she said hastily. "The blue one will do fine, I'm sure."

"I'm sure you'll have a _marvelous_ time," he said, and his voice was balanced just on the line between mockery and something else she couldn't quite name.

Suddenly, Maria needed to escape, to get away from this infuriating, mystifying, difficult man. "Well, Captain, I mean, I'll just be lingering on the edges of things, you know." And she fled down the stairs to the sound of his laughter.

Georg turned away to find Max, eyebrows raised, studying him contemplatively.

"Don't," he warned Max. "Don't say a word."

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

"You look beautiful, Liesl! And the dress is lovely," Maria said wearily, for perhaps the hundredth time in the last few days. The girl wasn't quite resigned to Maria's choice of dress for her: white, with a broad yellow sash and a flaring skirt. "You can wear it for your father's party as well. It's perfect for you. _You_ are not the debutante, Liesl, sweetheart. You're only sixteen, and-"

"Going on seventeen," Liesl sighed. "I know. And I _am_ grateful to you, Fraulein Maria, for talking father into this."

There was the sound of a horn honking in the courtyard below.

"Oh! Franz is ready!" the girl exclaimed.

Maria followed Liesl out of her bedroom, but not before stealing a glance at herself in the mirror. Not that her appearance mattered, she reminded herself: she was a chaperon, a governess, and a postulant from Nonnberg Abbey on top of it. She wouldn't be dancing tonight, or flirting, or drinking champagne. She would, however, be standing for hours, and so she told herself she'd been sensible to wear her everyday low heeled shoes. They were the only shoes she owned, anyway, besides her black boots.

Her eyes were still on her shoes as she followed Liesl down the stairs to the foyer, so she didn't look up until she heard the girl gasp.

"Father!"

Maria looked up to see Captain von Trapp standing at the bottom of the stairs. But this was an unbearably handsome Captain she would never have been able to conjure in her dreams: he was elegant in severe black evening clothes and gleaming pumps. A scarlet ribbon, bright against his snowy shirt, held his Maria Theresien medal. Although he was impatiently tapping his folded white gloves against his open palm, when her eyes found his, he was – smiling.

"Good evening, Fraulein."

"Good evening, Captain," Maria managed in return. So he would be escorting Liesl to the party. That _was_ a relief, Maria had to admit, although then why all that fuss about the dress, why hadn't he told her? If he'd intended to escort Liesl all along, why hadn't he said so? The Captain was nothing if not infuriating.

"Oh, Father," Liesl glowed. "I didn't know _you_ were going to escort me! Fraulein Maria said-"

The Captain raised an eyebrow. "Fraulein Maria seemed uncertain as to her ability to fulfill her duties as chaperon, which in turn made me uncertain about leaving you in her care."

"I was no such thing!" Maria gasped in outrage.

But the Captain merely smiled again. This time, it was the chilly, dangerous smile of a tiger. He extended his right arm to Liesl. "Shall we?"

As Liesl took his arm, her brothers and sisters, dangling over the railings from the upstairs gallery, hooted with glee. There was another impatient car-horn honk from the courtyard. Maria turned to climb back upstairs to her younger charges.

"Fraulein Maria," he said sharply.

When she turned back toward them, the Captain was staring down at his free arm, as though it had just appeared there and had no connection to the rest of him. And then, slowly, he extended it to her.

"You, too."

"But-"

"You're not getting out of this that easily," he said grimly, steering his companions up the stairs and through the doorway to where Franz waited by the open car doors.

Maria watched as he handed Liesl into the car, and then turned to her.

"Come on," the Captain beckoned, and then his voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't worry, Fraulein. I'm quite certain you'll have a _marvelous_ time. In fact, I'll make sure of it."

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Written for the Proboards holiday calendar. Happy new year everyone! Thank you mucwriter for organizing a magical experience for us! Don't own TSOM or anything about it. Do you get the title?**


	2. Chapter 2

**For this year's Proboards Community Advent Calendar, I've written a two-chapter sequel for "Bank Shot," the story I wrote for** _ **last**_ **year's Advent Calendar. This sequel is really different from the original story. (For one thing, I can't possibly think of any more double entendres!) There's some overlap with the first, original chapter, and this sequel stands alone, so you only need to go back and read the original if you want to revisit the colorful billiards match.**

 **Special thanks to mucwriter for organizing the Advent Calendar, which gave me much joy during a frantically busy month.**

 **And Happy New Year to TSOM fans everywhere!**

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Chapter 2:

Even Liesl's joyful anticipation couldn't ease the strained mood that filled the car during the short drive to the Warner estate. Seated in between Maria and her father, the girl chattered on excitedly while the Captain stared sulkily out the window, as though he'd been forced against his will to accompany them. .

Confounding, vexing man! First, he had most unreasonably refused to allow Liesl to attend Anna Warner's debut ball, maintaining that sixteen-going-on-seventeen was too young for such an affair, even though Liesl was friends with Emma, Anna's younger sister. A few days later, he suddenly changed his mind, offering Maria the chance to win his permission, in a billiards match that had left her flushed with triumph, unsettled by his strange behavior during the game, and baffled when she realized that he had let her win. Why had he forced her to play for a privilege he'd already decided to grant, and then been so disturbed by the victory he'd handed to her?

And then at the last minute, despite having previously insisted that Maria accompany Liesl to the ball, he had turned up to escort them both, looking devastatingly handsome in formal evening attire, with his Maria Thereisen medal gleaming at the end of a scarlet ribbon. Although he had wished the younger children a pleasant-enough goodnight before following his daughter and her governess into the car, he hadn't said a word since.

Trying not to dwell on the Captain's mercurial temper, or his distinguished appearance, Maria let her thoughts turn to the evening ahead. After two months, she had grown accustomed to living among the Austrian aristocracy. While she would never have either the desire or opportunity to be one of them, she felt more or less at ease in her daily routines. But from the moment their car reached the end of the winding tree-lined avenue that curved through the Warner estate, Maria felt woefully out of place. Franz had barely brought the car to a halt when a uniformed footman sprang forward to open the door and help her and Liesl out of the back seat while the Captain stood by, slapping his white gloves impatiently against his palm.

Once they'd made it up the marble steps and through the massive carved doors to stand in the receiving line, Maria saw that, her blue dress was not really suitable for this occasion. She reminded herself that she was a postulant at Nonnberg Abbey, attending this party in her role as governess and chaperon, not as a guest. And she reminded herself of the Captain's brief but clearly approving look the first time she'd worn that dress – it was a few weeks ago, the night of the puppet show – and again tonight, when she'd followed Liesl down the stairs into the foyer. That counted for something, even though the man now looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else.

The receiving line moved slowly. Maria was studying the crowd, hoping against any reasonable expectation to catch sight of a friendly face, when a flash of something bright caught her eye. It was a waistcoat, of all things, a thickly embroidered scarlet waistcoat, sported by a slender man who moved through the pack of guests sleek and silent, like some sort of jungle animal. As he turned in Maria's direction, saw that his vest was the only colorful thing about him; his white-blond hair was combed back from a high, pale forehead, and his light gray eyes stood out against nearly colorless brows and lashes. Trying not to stare at his odd appearance, she looked away, but his gaze held hers just a moment too long before he winked at her, turned, and disappeared into the ballroom.

Maria stole an anxious look at the Captain, though she couldn't have said why – did she hope he had seen the interaction, or that he hadn't? But her employer seemed absorbed in his own apparently wretched thoughts. Grateful that she'd be unlikely to cross paths with the man in the colorful vest again, Maria turned toward Liesl, and the welcome distraction of the girl's enthusiastic chatter. Liesl had already spotted several school friends and was bouncing on her toes to the rhythm of an orchestra whose music spilled into the foyer from the adjacent ballroom.

"Oh, Fraulein, thank you so much for talking Father into this! It's going to be _so_ much fun! I hope someone interesting will ask me to dance! Oh! Look at the dresses! I wonder if there will be any champa-"

"Liesl!" Maria glanced anxiously at the Captain, who had resumed slapping his gloves against his palm. "Your father," she whispered fiercely, "expects _you_ to behave, and _me_ to keep an eye on you, and heaven help both of us if we disappoint him. No champagne. And I want you to promise me that you'll only dance with boys you know."

"Don't you trust me, Fraulein?"

"Yes," Maria said, "and I'm proud of you, too, darling. Think of tonight as an opportunity to prove yourself worthy of it."

Things had improved considerably between Maria and the oldest von Trapp girl since that first night when she'd caught Liesl sneaking into her room after a rendezvous with the Rolf, telegram boy. It had been a big risk, Maria knew, keeping that secret from the Captain, but it had paid off in hours of cozy chats during which she'd earned the girl's trust and affection. Liesl had done most of the chatting, actually. Maria had mostly listened and learned that Liesl was, in fact, a sensible girl, but four years of looking out for her siblings and feeling abandoned by both mother and father had left her desperate for affection. Maria had found great joy in filling that gap, and was grateful that the telegram boy was now just a memory.

"Why can't I dance with – ?"

"Because I was once sixteen. And I wasn't living at Nonnberg Abbey at the time, either. I know, I know, you are going on seventeen. Still, I _am_ a little bit older and wiser, enough to know that the world is not always a safe place for young girls, and my job is to take care of you. Not because I don't trust you, but because I love you."

The conversation was cut short when they reached the head of the receiving line.

"Liesl! So glad that you could - and is that you, Georg? Georg!" Baroness Warner gave a glad little cry. "What an unexpected treat to see you here! Why, it's been ages! I hope this means we'll be seeing more of you out in society. Is Baroness Schrader with you?"

"Baroness Warner," the Captain had cut her off with a little bow. His face was unreadable, perfectly polite but suggesting neither pleasure nor annoyance. Their hostess, aglow with satisfaction, didn't seem to mind the interruption at all. "I'm afraid Baroness Schrader has returned to Vienna, to make arrangements for her party. That is, I mean, the party I'm holding in her honor."

While pleasantries were exchanged with Baron Warner, his wife's eyes slid toward Maria. There was no mistaking the results of her quick assessment.

"And you are?" Baroness Warner said coolly.

"Maria. Maria Rainier. I'm a-" she hesitated, not only unsure of how to explain her role without either annoying the Captain or embarrassing Liesl, but also uncertain about the etiquette of the situation. Should she extend her hand? Curtsy? Oh, why hadn't she watched the other guests while they waited in line? Biting her lip, she looked beseechingly at the Captain, but he was busy with his gloves again. .

"Fraulein Maria is a friend of the family," Liesl explained hastily. "She's visiting from the – ehrm – the country. I hope you don't mind?"

"Of course not," Baron Warner said heartily, but his wife still wore an expression of puzzled skepticism as they completed their greetings and moved toward the majestic arched entrance to ballroom. In an instant, Liesl had been swept away in a swell of young people.

"Where is Liesl running off to?" Captain von Trapp demanded. It was the first time he'd spoken directly to Maria since they'd left the villa. "I brought you here to supervise her. Why are _you_ standing here if _she_ isn't?"

"There's no need for me to stalk her, Captain. Look, there she is, by the stairway."

"She's already talking to strange men. I knew this was a mistake," he scowled, "one _you_ promised me could be avoided."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Captain." Maria didn't care if she was being disrespectful. She had never seen the Captain so irritable and she was long past the point where he intimidated her. Most of the time, anyway.

"I see three _boys_ – not men – and four girls. Did you expect her to wait for formal introductions? This is the twentieth century, not the eighteenth. _And_ they are not strangers, anyway, they are school friends of hers. Emma is Anna Warner's younger sister, the one who invited Liesl. There's Magda, and Peter, and that's Trude, and Tomas – he's the one in the glasses. And Walter and Berta and Mila. Every one of them has been to the villa." If you'd only taken the time to meet them instead of gallivanting about with your Baroness Schrader, she wanted to say.

"As long as you understand that you are responsible for her, Fraulein. I'm leaving you in command," he said curtly, before turning on his heel and wading into the crowded ballroom. Maria couldn't help noticing the way the horde seemed to part at his approach, until, in a matter of a few moments, he'd crossed the vast space and disappeared through a set of double doors at the far end of the room. It must have been his naturally authoritative bearing, or perhaps the angry blue glare, that allowed him to so easily cut his way through the mass of guests.

Now what? She wasn't ready to face the packed ballroom. Maria turned back toward the foyer until she noticed a steady stream of women, young and old, going in and out of what must be the lounge. With no better idea in mind, she found her way within, using as much time up as she could thoroughly washing her hands in scented soap and allowing herself a little spray of perfume.

But when she saw the other young women, clad in sumptuous ball gowns and glittering jewels, casting curious looks at her simple dress and hairstyle, the fun went out of the experience. And if she was to keep an eye on Liesl, she was going to have to face that ballroom eventually.

What wouldn't she give to be back at the villa right now, tucking the little girls into bed, preparing tomorrow's lessons and then taking a walk by the lake or joining Frau Schmidt for a cup of tea in the kitchen? Strange, that she could be homesick for a place whose marble floors, monumental foyer and ornate ballroom – not to mention its inhabitants, the fleet of servants, a pack of wild children and their stern father – had so intimidated her at first. In her current circumstances, the villa occupied a warm, cosy place in her thoughts.

Oh, what's the matter with me? she thought. What had happened to the confident Maria who had danced down the lanes of Aigen in her sturdy black boots and ugly dress? Now she was just an awkward, underdressed girl in the middle of – she felt a little burst of anger at Captain von Trapp, who'd gotten her into this situation and then abandoned her. It was enough to propel her out of the lounge, across the foyer, and under the arch into the ballroom. She sidled along the edge of the dance floor, which was packed with couples, searching for a bit of shelter for herself.

OoOoOoOo

The first brandy had barely burned its way into his belly when he ordered a second. Georg stood at the bar, keeping his back to the crowded library, delaying the inevitable moment when someone would recognize him and seek to entice him into a hand of cards or at least a bit of conversation over a cigar.

He was out of sorts, which wasn't all that unusual, but this time, he had no one but himself to blame.

What on earth was he doing here, anyway? He had detested Vienna's endless whirl of gay parties. It was bad enough that he'd found himself agreeing to Elsa's plan for a "grand and glorious" party; that had been a mistake, one born of guilt in a moment of weakness, the night he'd let the little governess distract him, and Elsa had been quick to take advantage. In fact, she was in Vienna at this very moment, making arrangements for a party at which he would be required to don evening clothes and entertain people who repulsed him. In his home. His _sanctuary_.

And in the meanwhile, he found himself at a debutante ball, of all things. Even in his youth, Georg had despised such affairs, though to please his mother and sister, he'd done his part at them often enough, dancing with one proper young lady after another, making meaningless and correct small talk with one eye on his watch. After an hour or two, he and his friends would escape, shedding ties and evening jackets before roaming the countryside in search of their preferred entertainment, which involved whisky, cards and the company of the kind of girls who did not frequent debutante balls. The kind of girls who climbed trees, drank champagne straight from the bottle, skinny-dipped, and rode bareback. The kind of girls who didn't need to be coaxed to sneak out of the house at midnight and stay out until dawn.

It had been a miracle, meeting Agathe, a girl who ruled over society on three continents, and was the center of attention at every ball she attended, but who also had a naughty side, who was always eager for a quick tumble in the barn, that time that they –

He shook away the memories – memories lost to a long-ago past, before the Navy, before his marriage. Grief had filled his mind for so long that there had been little room for reminiscence, nor pleasure, even in Elsa's company. But lately, it seemed that he was slowly thawing, with all sorts of troublesome feelings needling him as he came back to life, demanding _something,_ leaving him confused and hopelessly restless.

He knew exactly when his mood, like the weather, had shifted: the day he'd brought Elsa and Max to Salzburg. He had planned a brief, carefully engineered meeting between Elsa and his children before whisking her back to Vienna for a businesslike wedding, but within hours of his arrival at the villa, those plans lay in ruins. Instead, Georg found himself suddenly and delightfully reacquainted with his mob of bright, engaging and spirited children; somehow, instead of aggravating his grief and anger, they soothed it, and that, along with the mountains, lakes and trees, made him unwilling to leave Salzburg again, despite Elsa's obvious and impatient boredom.

Or maybe it was the music that had come back into his life, first when he'd come upon his children singing for Elsa and been startled by the sound of his own voice rising to meet theirs; or weeks later, when the little governess had coaxed him into taking the guitar into his arms for the first time in years.

There was one common thread to his restlessness: Fraulein Maria. The girl was a headache. She was an angel. Whatever she was, she had utterly and completely disarmed him. Ever since that first night, when she'd led his children in a mutiny against his rules. Ever since she'd stood up to him by the lake, dripping wet, cheeks flushed with anger. Ever since she'd hopped down from that puppet theatre, face glowing with joyful exertion, and threw her arms open as though she were offering herself to him.

At that moment, he had wanted to devour her. And there was no point in denying it, either. If you ignored her recent past as a postulant at Nonnberg Abbey - and it was all too easy to do that – Fraulein Maria could easily be _exactly_ the kind of troublemaker he'd adored as a young man.

In the weeks since the memorable evening of the puppet show, Georg had devoted himself to challenging that illusion, and to breaking the little governess' spell over him. He'd devised countless ways to put her in her place, only to be thwarted at every turn when, time after time, she refused to back down. The billiards match was only one example of how he had set out to demonstrate his power over her and ended up with the opposite result. Let her think that he had allowed her to win. He'd rather die than admit how her stream of unintentionally lewd remarks during the game had completely undone him.

He'd tried to even the score by insisting that she accompany Liesl to the Warner ball, knowing that sending her out into society would test her mettle and disturb her easy confidence. But then late this afternoon, he had been overtaken by guilt and shame at the idea that he had deliberately set out to humiliate his governess, and the next thing he knew, he found himself dressed in evening clothes and suffering through a debutante ball. And what did he get in return? Not thanks, but a breezy dressing down and a rather direct reminder of his failings as a father. If she felt the least bit ill at ease, she hadn't shown it.

Fraulein Maria was afraid of nothing. In fact, he – a decorated war hero - was starting to be afraid of _her_.

Recently, the little governess had begun to follow him into his sleep, a golden-haired, freckle faced, sprite who frolicked through his dreams, sometimes wearing one of her simple homemade dresses, sometimes wearing nothing at all. Georg had thought that Agathe's death had robbed him of any interest in _those_ matters. He no more lusted for women than he went to bed hungry or thirsty. Indeed, he had been avoiding Elsa's bed with talk of honor and propriety, and trying not to think about what would be expected of him if they married. How was he going to spend his wedding night with one woman, when he was still grieving a second and lusting after a third?

On the other side of the library's doors, the music silenced long enough to let a surge of applause and laughter burst through before the orchestra started up again. He felt a little prickle of irritation. Fraulein Maria had probably lost track of Liesl by now. It wouldn't surprise him one bit to find out that his governess had taken over the party and become the center of attention on the dance floor.

But irritation quickly gave way to worry. She was unfamiliar with the ways of society, and totally unprepared for such an experience. The ballroom was full of roués and cads who would be falling in line, ready to – why had he left her alone like that?

It was his job to protect her from herself, after all. He ought to check on her. And Liesl, too. Of course.

OoOoOoOoO

With a sigh of relief, Maria dropped into a small gold chair that sat tucked into a corner, half-hidden in a grove of enormous potted palms. From here, she could survey nearly the entire ballroom, which would be useful for keeping an eye on Liesl, while remaining barely visible to the glamorous assembly of guests. The Warner ballroom was an enormous space, nearly as large as Salzburg's cathedral, but instead of the soaring sounds of sacred music and murmured prayer, it was full to overflowing with the din generated by an orchestra and the buzz of several hundred guests.

Having found herself a sanctuary, Maria was finally able to relax and enjoy the spectacle unfolding before her. Lively music filled the room, so beguiling that, beneath the little gold chair, her feet tapped softly to the rhythm. Liesl danced by with one school chum after another, smiling brightly. The air was thick with laughter and the sweet scent of perfume. The entire gathering was a whirling, spinning mass of sparkling jewels and beautiful dresses in every hue, the colors appearing all the more dazzling against the severe black-and-white of the men's formal attire. Maria strained to see if Captain von Trapp was among the dancers, and then felt strangely relieved that he was not.

"Hello, darling!"

Maria startled at the deep rumble of a man's voice, and automatically looked around to see whom he'd been addressing, but there was no one else sitting there.

"I'm talking to you, love," the voice said, and Maria looked up to face the thin man in the colorful vest she'd glimpsed earlier, his pale face split by a grin.

"I'm sorry, have we met?"

"No, and it's a pity, isn't it? Let's rectify the situation right now. I'm Willem Berger, and you are-" he extended his hand.

Good manners overcame Maria's better judgement, and she stood and returned his handshake.

"Maria Rainier."

" _Fraulein_ Rainer?"

"Y-yes."

"You are here unescorted?"

"Yes. I mean, no, not exactly. I'm a friend of the von Trapp family." Surely, simply summoning the intimidating force of the Captain's reputation would be enough to protect her, Maria thought. But Willem was unimpressed.

"And here I was afraid I wouldn't find a friend. Now that I've got one, Fraulein Maria Rainier," Willem's gray eyes glittered with mischief, "Would you like to dance?

"Dance?"

"Yes, you know. Music. A man. A woman. Moving. Hopefully together."

"No! I mean, thank you, I'm sorry, but no."

"Well, then, some refreshments, perhaps?" he asked. "Champagne, or there's a wicked punch if that's more to your taste."

Willem Berger made her uneasy. Why on earth would he have singled her out from among the glamorous crowd and gone out of his way to corner her in a grove of potted palms? There was something unsettling about the way he looked her over, as though he knew what she looked like under her dress.

"No, thank you," Maria said. "Herr Berger, I don't want to be rude, but-"

"Then don't be." He smoothed his fair hair back with a preening gesture. "If you don't want to dance or drink, Maria, perhaps you'd like a walk on the terrace? There's a beautiful moon tonight, you know."

"Herr Berger-"

"Willem," he prompted her. A clammy, long-fingered hand wrapped itself around her wrist. "Come on, darling, just a walk. What harm could come of it?"

"I can't. I'm sorry, but I'm not really a guest here, you see. I'm the governess to the children of Captain von Trapp," Maria explained, sending a silent apology Liesl's way.

Willem raised an eyebrow, but he didn't remove his hand.

"Now that's interesting! And here everyone is talking about him and Elsa Schrader."

Maria's cheeks burned with shame at the implication, but deep inside, she was a little embarrassed, too, as though someone had peeked inside her heart and seen a secret she hadn't even admitted to herself. After giving her arm a fruitless tug, and wishing for the armor of her wimple, Maria summoned a scowl worthy of Sister Berthe.

"But I am only with the von Trapps for the summer, and then I will be returning to Nonnberg Abbey to take my final vows." She took a certain amount of pleasure in watching his eyes go wide with surprise before explaining, "I'm a postulant there, you see. And postulants don't dance." At least not in public with strange men, she added to herself, thinking of nighttime thunderstorm frolics with the children. "So you see, Herr Berger, while I am very grateful for your offer of -ehrm – friendship, I really can't accept."

Unfortunately, Willem had quickly recovered his equanimity, and he had not let go of her, either.

"A _nun?_ I know they used to say Von Trapp likes a challenge, but that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

Maria wanted to scream, but she didn't want to make a scene. She wanted to run away, but Willem would not let go of her. All she could do was take a small step back and look desperately around her, eyes sweeping the crowd for salvation. She was relieved, but not surprised, somehow, to spy Captain von Trapp, brow lowered in thunderous rage, slicing like a sword through the throng with his usual formidable air. She saw him take in the situation in one long, assessing gaze, lingering only for a moment on Willem's hand, which remained wrapped around her wrist.

Maria turned back to Willem. "Why, here comes Captain von Trapp now."

If this were a fairy tale, Maria thought, the evil villain would dissolve into a sniveling coward who beat a hasty, fear-filled retreat while the handsome hero turned to her with a reassuring smile that said all the things that could never be spoken out loud. But it didn't happen that way at all.

Willem did remove his hand from her wrist, but with slow, defiant deliberation and an icy chuckle, before murmuring, "If you're a nun, darling, then I'm a naval hero. If you change your mind about a walk, let me know. Best not to be seen together." Then he slipped away with a smirk.

And then Captain von Trapp was by her side. She opened her mouth to try and explain, but his murderous glare stopped her. In a furious whisper just loud enough to be heard over the music, he hissed, "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Me?" Maria squeaked.

"I brought you to this party to watch over Liesl, not to flirt with-"

" _Flirt_?"

She barely knew whether to be flattered or annoyed.

"I hope you're joking. Have you forgotten, Captain, where I come from?"

"No," he spat, "I haven't. Have you? I leave you alone for five minutes only to find you - do you have any idea who that man is?"

"It wasn't five minutes. It's been more like an hour since you simply abandoned me, and I have kept regular track of Liesl, and – why? Who is he?"

"Berger's a notorious rake, one who takes advantage of women, especially those with money. And he's not particularly kindhearted about it, either." Then he hesitated. "Never mind. You don't need to know anything about that."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't got any money. And Captain, surely you don't think that I would ever-"

He looked down at the floor and sighed deeply.

"No," he said after a moment, "No. Of course not. I apologize, Fraulein. It's just that – well, look at you," and when his eyes met hers, Maria's heart skipped a beat, and she felt a delicious little flutter of anticipation, at least until he went on.

"No one would ever mistake you for the type. Talking to Berger was just an innocent mistake on your part, of course. I understand that. It's just that I'm responsible for you. I'm supposed to protect you. To return you to the Abbey in the same state," he fumbled, "that is, unharmed."

So that was how Captain von Trapp saw her, not even worthy of a man's attentions. Through her disappointment and hurt feelings, Maria managed a cheerful smile. "Oh, I know that I'm naïve. Innocent as a rose. I'm hopeless, really."

An indescribable expression swept over his handsome face, and his voice was unusually gentle.

"Fraulein. I didn't mean – ehrm-"

"And anyway," she interrupted, "I took care of Berger all by myself. I didn't need you to interfere."

"I wasn't interfering, I only-"

Maria raised her chin and glowered at him. "And yet you came all the way over here, Captain. Was there something you wanted?"

"Me?" The strange expression slipped from his face to be replaced by his usual stern, chilly demeanor. "No. I just happened to be passing by. Stay away from Berger, you understand?" And without another word, he stomped off.

Infuriating man. She supposed she ought to be grateful he had shown up in time to scare Willem Berger away. But more than anything else, Maria was puzzled.

By how it was that the Captain had happened to be passing by a secluded grove of potted plants.

And by what she'd seen in his face: the spot of color high on his cheekbones, the soft set of his mouth, and the tender look in his eyes.

oOoOoOoOoOoO

 **Please follow me or this story for Chapter 3, which will be up soon. Don't own, all for love!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Was it her imagination, or had the music gotten quite a lot louder in the last quarter hour? There was surely no denying that the room was much warmer than it had been when they'd arrived. By now, the glittering mob had swollen in number and enthusiasm until it threatened to consume every last bit of air left in the ballroom. Maria's head had begun to throb to the music's insistent rhythm, and her throat was parched with thirst, but she was afraid to leave her post in search of refreshments, for fear of encountering Willem Berger.

Desperate for cool air, she edged her chair in the direction of a nearby open window, farther behind the potted plants. The ballroom's windows stood tall and deep, with their sills only a meter off the floor, so it was only a matter of moments and a quick check of her surroundings – no one at this party was monitoring the potted plants – before Maria gave into temptation. Swinging her legs out over the low windowsill, she stepped easily onto a broad terrace.

Once outside, she drew a few deep, refreshing breaths before scurrying across the terrace and down several flights of stone steps, to where a high hedge separated the house from the rest of the property. A small gap in the hedge led to a magical sight: a wide stone path, lit silver by the full moon, that meandered through a grove of tall trees whose leaves shivered like a restless sea in the evening breeze.

Wandering along the path, Maria let herself relax, feeling the tension drain from her body and her throbbing head ease. Out here, she'd be safe from Willem, although the Captain would be furious if he knew she'd abandoned her post. Then again, lately, Captain von Trapp seemed furious no matter what she did, and Maria didn't know why.

It had started with that billiards game, the one he'd let her win. Before that, they'd been getting along fine. No, better than fine. Almost as though they were _friends._ Not that they didn't differ over matters related to the children, but she was pleased and proud of the way he treated her with respect, as though their differences in position and age didn't exist.

And long before the billiards match, for quite some time, actually, there had _also_ been the growing realization – the thrilling, disturbing knowledge – that the Captain couldn't take his eyes off her. It was wrong, she knew, to take notice of that, let alone take pleasure in it, and she hadn't liked to think too much about what it might mean. And yet she felt safe with him, too, knowing instinctively that he was an honorable and trustworthy man who would never take advantage of her.

What made the current situation even more confusing was that since the billiards game, while his manner toward her had changed from kind consideration to irritated exasperation, he was _still_ nearly always watching her. At the breakfast table, on the terrace for tea, picnicking by the lake, singing with the family after dinner: Maria could practically feel his eyes on her. That hadn't changed, although their easy camaraderie was apparently at an end. Was she better or worse off this way?

Suddenly, from the terrace beyond the hedge, came a most unfortunate intrusion: Willem Berger's voice.

"Maria? Maria Rainier? I saw you slip out, clever girl. Where are you hiding, sweet one? I know you're out here somewhere!"

Maria's amble turned into a trot as she raced away from Willem's voice and slipped behind the nearest tree. But the sound of his footsteps told her she had only a few moments before Willem discovered the gap in the hedge, and once he was in the grove, surely the bright color of her dress would give her away, even from behind a tree. And this time, the Captain would not come to her rescue.

Without letting herself stop to think too long about what she was about to do, Maria reached upward, grasped a branch, and began to climb the tree. Inside its foliage, it was dark, making it hard to gauge how high she'd climbed. But soon enough, she was comfortably wedged into a perch between two branches, high enough that she could only hear, rather than see, Willem discover the grove and make a futile effort to find her hiding among the trees. She held her breath as his pleas turned frustrated at first and then vaguely nasty, until, at last, she heard his retreating footsteps.

Maria stifled a giggle. This was not what she'd expected from her first and likely only debutante ball! Reaching for the nearest branch, she pulled herself upright and began her descent, pausing to glance down in the direction of the ground below.

That was her mistake.

As a girl, Maria had loved climbing trees: the feeling of escaping the earth's hold to meet the sky, of dreaming that she might take wing and fly over the mountains and away. But she had forgotten a lesson learned the hard way: never climb so high that you can't see the ground. And now here she was, her arms trembling as she clung to the tree's trunk, with every inch of her skin prickling with fear as she realized her predicament.

She stood that way, nearly utterly immobilized by terror, until after a few minutes, she was relieved to hear footsteps on the stone path below. Should she call for help and risk confronting Willem or, worse, embarrassing the von Trapp family? Or should she wait and hope that her courage returned and allowed her to descend on her own?

"Oh, help," she half-whispered, half-groaned.

As though things couldn't get any worse, she heard a familiar voice.

"Fraulein Maria?"

"Oh, Captain! It's you!"

"Were you expecting someone else? Where are you?"

"I'm up here. In the tree."

"What the devil are you doing up there?"

Maria would rather have died than tell him the truth, so she tried to hide the shake in her voice.

"N-never mind how I got here, Captain, would you mind very much-?"

"Come out of that tree at once!" he ordered.

"I can't, Captain. I'm stuck. It's a good thing you came along, because I need your help getting down."

"What do you mean, stuck? You got up there, didn't you? Is it your shoe that's stuck? Leave it and come down barefoot. We can get you some new shoes."

"It's not – can you come up and help me?"

"Or is it your dress that's caught? Just give it a yank."

"I said," Maria interrupted him desperately, "can you come up and help me?"

"What? No, I can't, Fraulein," he said irritably, "that's a pear tree."

"What do pears have to do with it? Would you help me if they were apples?"

"It won't bear both of our weights, is what. The moment I would start to climb that tree – even if I were inclined to do such a foolish thing – the limbs would snap. You'll just have to climb down by yourself. And quickly, mind you, before someone sees."

Maria closed her eyes. Never in her life had she felt so humiliated, but there was no keeping the truth from him. With a deep sign of resignation, she muttered, "I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"Because I'm afraid," she confessed.

"Afraid?" Maria could hear the frown of confusion in his voice. "But I've seen you climb trees before."

"I wasn't scared to climb _up_ here, but I don't seem to be able to get back _down_."

"I've never heard of such a thing, Fraulein."

"Oh, this happened to me once before, when I was Brigitta's age."

" _What_ happened once before?"

"I loved climbing trees when I was a girl. But that one time, I suddenly realized I'd gone higher than I ought. And when I stopped to look down, I simply froze. I was trembling so hard that it was all I could do to hang onto the trunk."

"Well, what did you do about it that time?"

From where she stood high above him, with her arms wrapped around the tree, Maria couldn't make out the Captain's face, but somehow, his presence was reassuring enough to coax the rest of the dreadful memory out of her.

"I was an orphan, you know. _Am_ an orphan." She paused, for just long enough that he wouldn't miss the reproachful reminder of how he'd very nearly cost his children the only parent they were lucky enough to have left. "I had gone to live with my uncle. He was not a very kind man, and not overly concerned for my welfare, either, but when I failed to return home to do my chores, he came looking for me."

"And he rescued you. Well, I told you, I can't-"

" _Rescue_ me?" she snorted. "He lectured me, about not getting myself into troubles I couldn't get myself out of, and left me there to find my way down. Which I did, more than a few hours later. It was awfully dark out there. And it was springtime, you know, when it's quite warm during the daytime, but the nights-"

From below, there was a long silence. "I had thought," the Captain said slowly, "you weren't afraid of anything."

Maria didn't know whether to feel proud that she'd won his admiration, or regret that she'd somehow disappointed him.

"Well, like every experience, there was something good to be gained from it. I learned not to reach for things I didn't deserve."

Even from where he stood below, there was no missing the bruise in her voice, though she disguised it with a wry laugh. A wave of dark emotion – anger, fear, possessiveness, protectiveness, and something else Georg didn't want to think about, swept over him. But there was humor in the situation, too. Hadn't he just been reminiscing about tree-climbing girls? Now he had one, and apparently at his mercy.

Georg had escaped the crowded card room and the ballroom's frantic commotion in search of fresh air and silence. He had always done his best thinking under an open night sky filled with stars, and he was intent on sorting out his jumbled thoughts before spending any more time in Fraulein Maria's company. While he had no regrets about warning her away from Berger, he could not fathom why he had found it necessary to insult her in the process, to _lie,_ by informing her she was unworthy of any man's attentions. He'd regretted the words the minute they'd left his lips, but Georg had enough experience with women to know that any effort to explain himself would only make it worse, and that he had no choice but to turn away from the hurt feelings that were plain to read on her face. Why was he so intent on driving this poor girl away?

Now the story about her uncle filled him with murderous rage. He wanted to protect the little governess from harm, but apparently only so that he could break her himself? It made no sense at all.

He stepped closer to the tree, peering up through the branches where the moonlight could not reach, but he thought he could just make out the ivory glow of skin and the slim shape of a leg, even a bit of lace. Which was ridiculous. Postulants from Nonnberg Abbey probably wore their knickers plain, not lace-trimmed.

"Captain?"

"What is it, Fraulein?"

"You're not going to leave me here, are you?"

Never in a million years could he have imagined her addressing him in such a beseeching fashion. Yet she didn't want his pity, he knew, so he struggled to sound matter of fact. "Of course not," he reassured her. "I'll just have to-"

To what? Ask the Warner's gardener for a ladder? Georg didn't mind the scandal, but there was Liesl to consider, and it wouldn't do Fraulein Maria any good, either. No, there was only one way out of this predicament, and he was the one to do it.

"I'm going to talk you down."

"That won't work," she said flatly.

"Of course it will," he said confidently. "Just do exactly as I say, Fraulein, and you'll be fine."

He let his voice drop low, and wrapped it in silk.

"First, I want you to breathe. Just breathe. Deep breaths, slow and even. That's it. Just like that. Very good."

It was remarkable, the way it came back to him, although it had been years since he'd had to talk a woman into much of anything. It would be better if he could sprinkle in an endearment or two, but he'd have to manage without.

"All right, Fraulein. Just keep breathing, full, deep breaths. Now. I want you to relax. Toes and fingers first, then arms and legs. Then your shoulders. Just let yourself give way."

He was careful to keep his voice low, warmed and slowed it until it was like syrup. Even the most innocent of women could not fail to fall under the spell of that voice. Although his words were innocuous, Georg could all too easily imagine substituting different words, words not meant to soothe her fears, but meant instead to coax and arouse.

He struggled to swallow the words that bubbled up in his throat: _Give way to me. Just like that. Full and deep and -_ He wanted to order her not to breathe, but to scream. Not to relax her limbs, but to wrap them around him. He wanted to sink his teeth into the soft skin of her shoulder, and then-

She'd started it, hadn't she, during the billiards match, subjecting him to a barrage of double entendres without a single blush? He was just giving his governess a dose of her own medicine, and only in his thoughts, where it couldn't possibly do any harm. And it wouldn't be long, anyway, before he had her calmed down, and then he'd walk her through the descent, step by step.

He ran his hands through his hair and took a moment to compose himself, before peering up through the branches, and murmuring, "There. Feeling better?"

From above, silence.

"Fraulein?"

"It's not working," she gave a despairing little moan. "Please, Captain, don't-"

"I'm not giving up on you," Georg said firmly. His mind cast about for some forgotten trick. Funny, he couldn't remember a woman he couldn't bend to his will with that voice. Especially the adventurous ones. Then, all of a sudden, it hit him. The _most_ rebellious ones, the ones he'd liked best: beneath that veneer of independence, they were precisely the ones who longed for a firm hand.

Could it possibly be-? A smile played on his lips at the thought. He took a deep breath.

"Maria!"

He let the sharp summons hang in the air just long enough for the familiar form of address to throw her off guard.

Then he gave the command.

"Jump!"

She jumped.

One moment, Maria was clinging to the tree, and the next, she was dropping like a stone, branches and leaves brushing by her and snagging at her dress, until she landed in his arms.

He didn't flinch or stagger, not even an inch.

Her arms had somehow gone around his neck, and at first she Maria was so self-conscious that she simply looked up and blurted out a most unsuitable greeting – "Hallo!" - as though they'd just met in the street. But when his arms tightened reflexively around her, she let herself huddle against the safety of his solid chest as relief and embarrassment washed over her.

"You're all right," he murmured.

She squirmed away from the oddly intimate sensation, the way she felt his voice rumble in his chest rather than hearing it from a proper distance.

But then his eyes, searching, found hers, and they simply stared at each other for a very, very long time. They might have stood that way forever, drenched in silver moonlight in the Warners' garden, eyes locked, as summer turned to fall and winter, where they would wear a snowy mantle until spring returned and led them back into another glorious summer.

But soon enough, the tender intensity of that blue gaze grew too overwhelming for Maria to bear.

"Captain?" she whispered.

"What is it, Fraulein?"

Now that Maria was back on earth, she was also back to being Fraulein, it seemed.

"I think you can put me down now. Sir."

"Of course. I just wanted to be sure that you were-"

Now that she seemed to have stopped trembling, he loosened his hold on her and let her slide down his body to the ground, making sure she was firmly on her feet before letting go of her.

The Captain made a clucking noise of disapproval. "It won't do for you to be seen like that." He was all business now, making a peremptory motion with his hand. "Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn around," he insisted, and when she did, he brushed the bits of bark and dirt off the back of her skirt in a manner that was too efficient to be improper, but also had a certain warm familiarity about it, as though they were intimate companions. Which in a funny way, they nearly were.

"If you put that dress in to soak overnight," he advised her, "no one will know in the morning."

"Father? Fraulein Maria?"

Joined by mutual guilt and embarrassment, they whirled around to face Liesl where she stood in the gap of the hedge. But the girl's face wore only excitement.

"Father! There's just one or two more dances left, and then they'll be presenting Anna, and after _that,_ there's a special final dance. A dance for - I just thought – it's for-" the girl stopped, uncertainly.

"For fathers and daughters," the Captain said smoothly. "I think I'm brave enough to try that, Liesl. I'll meet you by the library door, all right? I just need a moment to confer with your Fraulein."

They watched Liesl scamper away and then turned back toward each other, though they didn't seem to have anything else to say at first.

"She seems to be enjoying herself." Georg observed, merely to break the awkward silence. "I don't suppose you went to parties like this when you were a girl."

"Of course I did," she snapped. "I wasn't born at Nonnberg Abbey, you know. And no, not parties like this. Ones that were more – more fun, in fact." Her voice turned soft and wistful. "Back then, I loved to dance."

From the ballroom beyond the terrace came the first notes of a waltz, high and sweet. Agathe had adored the waltz. Since her death, he'd had to numb himself with champagne to be able to stumble through the motions at Elsa's parties. So no one was more surprised than Georg to hear himself ask,

"I don't suppose you'd like to waltz?"

Her wide blue gaze darted away from his, and her fingers fidgeted with her skirt.

"Oh, Captain, thank you, but I can't."

He reached into his pocket for his gloves. "We'll stay up there on the terrace. No one will see. You deserve a bit of a frolic after your ordeal," he reassured her, and his heart swelled with pride at having rescued and protected the little governess, and of having redeemed his earlier unkind impulses toward her.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I just can't."

His injured pride turned to pique. Perhaps the sisters at Nonnberg hadn't figured it out yet, but Georg was now possessed of the dangerous knowledge that he could order Fraulein Maria to do just about anything – to jump from a height of ten thousand feet or more – and she would do it. If he needed to, he would order her to dance, that was all there was to it.

"Oh, I see. It's me, is that it? You don't want to dance with me?"

She did him the favor of blushing deeply.

"It's not because of you, Captain. I mean, I _can't._ I don't know how to waltz."

"Ah. I see. Perhaps I'm mistaken. Or could I have just imagined it? I thought you just said you loved to dance."

"But those were country dances. The Schuhplattler, the Laendler, that kind of thing."

A warm memory swept over him, summer evenings in the country, girls from the village, fresh faced and willing.

"Those are my favorites too," he agreed.

"You?" She wrinkled her nose in surprise.

"I spent my boyhood summers on my grandparents' farm in the country," he explained.

By now, whatever spell had taken hold of them under the pear tree was broken, and they began to stroll back toward house.

"Thank you, Captain. For coming to my rescue twice this evening. Somehow, you always rise to the occasion."

Georg nearly choked. Were they about to embark on another round of unintentionally lewd conversation? He didn't think he could bear it. Hiding his dismay beneath a severe expression, he said sternly, "Perhaps this incident will demonstrate the benefits of simply doing as you're told."

But the little governess merely laughed.

"If I could do that, Captain, I would not always be in such trouble at the Abbey. That's _precisely_ why I'm afraid I won't make a very good nun."

"Well, it's a good thing you're not getting married," he said darkly. She'd be the death of any man who tried to make her his own.

"How would you know?" she laughed again.

"Because I _was_ married," he said quietly.

She gave a little moan of regret and apology, but he cut her off.

"Never mind that," he said curtly. As he climbed the stone steps toward the terrace, and the light and noise of the ballroom beyond, Georg could feel reality begin to set in. Fraulein Maria would go back to hiding behind her potted palms, and he would dance with Liesl, and then the evening would conclude and Franz would drive them back to the villa. Elsa would return from Vienna, and she would have her grand and glorious party. Then the summer would come to an end, and with it, Georg hoped, this restlessness.

He would agree to a second marriage that would never make him happy, not the way the first one had, but it would be a tolerable enough way to live out his life, he supposed. The little governess would go back to the Abbey, where she didn't belong, and where she would never be happy. Somehow, her future unhappiness seemed to bother him more than his own, and there was only scant comfort in knowing that while he could never have her, no one else would have her either.

Whatever was going to happen was going to happen, and he would be fine with it, Georg told himself, as long as he could have one simple thing. At this point, there was really only one thing left that he required, one thing he deserved. And Fraulein Maria deserved it too.

"Fraulein Maria?"

From the step below, she looked up through her lashes at him and smiled widely. He was relieved to see that that the events of the evening had not apparently not diminished her spirit, her singing, whistling, infuriating, charming presence.

"Yes, Captain?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and fumbled at first.

"I still want you to – I mean I _ask_ you to -"

Then, reminding himself of the dangerous knowledge he'd gained tonight, he pulled himself upward, summoned his most commanding glare, and sent the words out onto the night air like a missile.

"Before the summer ends? I _will_ have that dance from you."

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 **And now we know why the Laendler. And this really is the end, this time. Happy new year everyone! Thanks again to mucwriter for managing the Proboards Advent Calendar. I don't own the Sound of Music or anything about it, I just love it to death.**


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